


My Hands

by Metuka



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M, season 7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-12 10:30:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/810558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metuka/pseuds/Metuka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Come on, Ziva," he'd told her hours before. "Come on, Ziva," and it suddenly felt so easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Hands

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [Mis manos](https://archiveofourown.org/works/810591) by [Metuka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metuka/pseuds/Metuka)



> Thanks to [Sammy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSammy) for being my beta reader.

It all began with the usual whimpering and panting that had become her waking symphony in the dead of the night. Turn on the light, check the time, growl, toss, turn, rinse, repeat. Only this time she took it one step further. “Come on, Ziva,” she went, scorning herself. “Come on, Ziva.” Just like him.

She took a deep breath and felt she still carried some of his smell lingering in her skin and hair. It had been so hot under that tin roof. Six hours literally taking the heat together, like that other time when they’d barely known each other. The teasing had been different, though. And his eyes, green and blue. The quiet sound of his voice.

“Come on, Ziva.”

Accustomed to acting by instincts, she didn’t quite question her motives or moves. Green and blue, light brown hair, killer smile. How would it feel if it was his hands instead of hers? Eyes closed, there he was, looking at her with pride and lust. He would stroke her tresses, then promenade her body like it was his very own personal playground. She gasped. His chest would be a little bit too hairy, but who said that wasn’t sexy? And his sweet, daring whisper in her ear would feel so delicious she bit her lip because his was out of reach.

The faster she moved, the more solid his presence became. He enticed her with his tongue, barely able to wait his turn. “Not yet,” she tried to tell him, or maybe herself, but she was at a loss for words. The only one she managed to utter just once, shyly, was his name. And then he was suddenly gone, but not forgotten. And she looked at her fingers and wondered how it was possible. No more disgust, shame and worthlessness. No more fruitless, angry rubbing that left her numb and frustrated. No more half-assed fantasies than swiftly turned into nightmarish memories and tears. Suddenly it had worked. Just like that.

She brought him coffee to the office the morning after. When he asked why and started one of his soliloquys, she avoided his glance, sat down and barely managed to keep a straight face.

“Come on, Tony. Just shut up and drink.”

He took the cup gingerly, eyebrows raised. Gorgeous eyes, inviting smile, big, careful fingers. Yes, it would have felt so much nicer.


End file.
